Of camping and the power of chicken wings
Last night, I had 2 beers and 3 chicken wings during my volleyball games. This resulted in 2 matches won and 3 lost. Coincidence? I think not. I'm drinking more beer next week.
Speaking of chicken wings, earlier this week Vivian taught me how to rock climb. Elaine notes, "in new york, this thing would be a sculpture. in california, people climb it for exercise." True that. I'm kind of afraid of heights. I also associate rock climbing with extreme sport white dudes who manufacture danger to feel alive. There's also something completely absurd and pointless about climbing a fake rock studded with plastic handholds. Despite all that, I had a great time and actually felt like I accomplished something when I reached the top. Yes, I realize it's a false sense of accomplishment borne out of my overall daily uselessness. Anyway, it's quite a workout and to maintain motivation my one request is that they place a prize at the top. A chicken wing would be quite nice or a little picture of Angelina Jolie peering at me.
On an unrelated note, I'm ashamed to admit I am woefully behind my queer API sisters in getting anything online re: camping last weekend. Pictures of frolicking dykes, scenic rivers, enormous redwoods and tiny frogs are now circulating the internet. Being a photographic misanthrope, I don't like taking pictures of people. So my pictures would be incredibly boring images of redwoods and green moss. I think I'll spare my fellow campers.